


Four's Company

by redjaded (timeheist)



Series: The Redjay [3]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Robin Hood (Traditional)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-04
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-06 20:26:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/422847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeheist/pseuds/redjaded
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of how he had met the Redjay was an interesting story to tell companions on a cold intergalactic night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Buried Alive

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place during Roda's 4th regeneration.

His life was a constant flux of opportune moments just waiting to be taken and he reasoned this was probably one of them. The Doctor hadn’t even planned to come to Sherwood Forest and here he was, possibly saving a Time Lord’s life. He’d just left Leela behind on Gallifrey – making Andred swear to look after her – and was missing her company whether he would admit to it or not. Eleventh century Sherwood Forest was primitive without being too familiar and so he’d thought he’d drop in on Robin Hood, have a little chat, teach the outlaws about etiquette. What he hadn’t expected to happen was for him to arrive in Sherwood Forest, immediately pick up a subconscious, telepathic scream for help, and then hear the same signal cut off in a second. Only a Time Lord could send out a message that strong, and for it to suddenly go quiet... Wasn’t very good. Probably. It meant one of two things; either help had arrived and the Time Lord – whose telepathy was immature at best – was now safe, or they had just been silenced. But even unconscious, a signal that strong would have been heard. Which led the Doctor to believe that a regeneration had taken place in this town. And someone still needed his help.

The TARDIS had landed near Nottingham Square, just as he heard the cry for help. It was tucked in between buildings, the chameleon filter keeping it hidden from meddlesome human passers-by. Wouldn’t do to have his time machine stolen, or defaced. Not that Sherwood Forest was the century for it but he could never be sure; last time he’d come here, he’d gotten himself into trouble by insulting the intelligence of Prince John. Old face, though, so it’d be fine now. The Doctor had followed the shadow of the telepathic signal to the gallows, and a sense of dread had sunk into the pit of his stomach when he’d seen the crowds focused on a body being brought down from the noose. It was hard to see past all the people but he could tell one thing about the Time Lord, well, Lady – whoever it was, she was still breathing, if only just. Although she seemed to have a partially broken neck. She had an arrow in her chest too, supposedly a mercy killing; was she a friend of Robin Hood’s? He forced his hands into his pockets and kept to the dark, watching where the body was taken and following close behind.

When he’d seen what happened and heard a little of the story, he returned to his TARDIS and ran up some information on any Time Lords with registered interest in Sol-3. The name ‘Redjay’ had flagged up at his end, and he wanted to know why it was so familiar; after all the hung woman looked nothing like any Time Lord that he’d ever seen or read about. If anything, she’d pass for a Shobogan. The Matrix had nothing to say either but with a time machine and some rule-breaking he had time to quickly visit the Great Library on Gallifrey. Once there, he’d found one tiny report, written by a Gallifreyan he’d once met, about a newly regenerated Time Lady condemned of treason against Rassilon. Robin Hood was briefly mentioned. Most of it had been removed but a trace had survived. The Doctor grinned. Bingo. He’d hidden the pages in the depths of his pockets and returned to the city in time to reach the Time Lady’s unmarked grave minutes after she’d been buried. At least the information he’d found out explained why her telepathy had sounded so strange; renegades weren’t a part of the Matrix.

Even a Time Lord could only last so long buried alive. When the Doctor had left the woman – Redjay? – behind, she’d been so close to regeneration that nothing he could have done could have stopped it. Of course, it would have been better if he could have rushed in and saved her from being buried alive but at least post regeneration, her body would shut down in the case of emergency for a couple of hours. Theoretically, this was the only time she’d be able to survive it. The other problem with intercepting her body was that he’d found information of a Redjay who was involved with Robin Hood’s Merry Men and was executed this very day, and he even he was a little wary of messing with the timeline of a planetary hero. He wrapped his scarf around his neck tightly so as not to lose it, and began to carefully dig into the grave, sure that being a pauper’s grave nobody would have shelled out for a coffin. All he could say was thank heavens for respiratory bypass, but even that wouldn’t save her from a shovel through the chest.

Luckily it didn’t come to that. When he was sure the ground seemed to get harder, heavier, he slowed his digging, tapping lightly until he reached resistance not made of rock. He crouched down and used the shovel to move the last of the dirt before digging with his hands, carefully pulling the Time Lady – regenerated, just as he’d thought – out of the grave. Survival instincts took over and he pressed his ear to her chest, checking both of her hearts and making sure not to move the arrow which was still lodged between torn buttons of her waistcoat. Pull that out, and she could bleed to death. “Right heart’s fine, left heart’s a little musical but it’s beating, good.” He checked for any bones he might of broken while digging her out, certain that the regeneration would have healed the marrow in her neck since the break wasn’t full, and then lifted her over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. It was a long walk back to the TARDIS.

***

The Time Lord – no, Lady – blinked up at him, dirt still dusting her freckled face and coal-lit hair. The Doctor regarded her from a nearby crouch, leaning over the armchair that he’d put her in to wait until she woke. His theory was that if she was a traitor, or at least a criminal in Gallifrey’s eyes, she wouldn’t take kindly to waking up in a strange, clinical place. He knew a little bit about what the Time Lords did to renegades himself, and if her crime was important enough for all traces of her to be entirely removed from the Matrix, then it was probably worse. She wasn’t going to be particularly trusting of him when he woke up but she was a Time Lady. The clothing, and everything about her appearance, was probably a front for something she’d wanted done. She couldn’t really behave like one of the Merry Men, such a primitive colony compared to the Time Lords, surely! After all, if the paper he held in his hands was anything to go by, she was coming up to nine hundred years old, two hundred or so more than himself.

He hadn’t given her any medical care bar checking for breaks and clinically removing the arrow because he’d wanted to talk to her first. He didn’t suspect her of being dangerous himself but the Time Lords had obviously thought so. She looked around the room – one just adjacent to and down the corridor from the console room both at the same time – and then sat up sharply, hackles raised and her teeth showing. It almost reminded him of a wild animal. The Doctor kept a studious eye on her, raising an eyebrow as he realised belatedly that the smudges of blue on her face and arms weren’t bruises from the hanging but paint. The effect was vaguely Celtic and would have made her look formidable were it not for the circumstances. That raised another warning bell in his head; what had she done to get herself hung? Obviously she had no regard for the Non-Interference Policy. Not that it could be said that he had much regard himself.

“Where am I? Who are you?”

“I’m the Doc-“

“Is this a hospital? What century is this?”

“It’s my TARD-“

“You’re a Time Lo-“

“Would you let me finish?!”

The Time Lady let her mouth snap shut, but she had already jumped to her feet. She glared at the Doctor and let her hand ghost to her waist, hand clenching around thin air to high up to be a simple fist. As the Doctor watch her eyes widened and her hand opened and shut as she stared down at the empty fist. The Time Lady swallowed and bit back an almost silent whisper, and the Doctor frowned subtly. “My quiver? My bow? Where are they?”

“Full of questions aren’t you?” The Doctor grinned, trying to look more open, his curled brown hair a mess. He scratched his head as he watched her, perfectly casual and never letting her out of his sight. “And I rather think the hangman took them along with your boots.” He pulled a face, scarf hanging around his neck again. “That’s what happens when you get hung – trust me, nearly happened to me too once.” The Doctor pouted as the Time Lady stared at him in disbelief. “And they were a good pair of boots too.” He gave a long, lamenting sigh and then pointed to the corner of the TARDIS, grinning again. “Naturally I had a few words with the executioner and bought them off of him under the guise of a servant of the King of England.” The Time Lady looked where he pointed, seeming to relax when she saw her weapons propped up against the doorway, and the Doctor took advantage of the moment to put one firm hand on her chest and push her back into the chair. “And like I said, I’m the Doctor, and you’re not ready to be moving about yet.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but the wind seemed to leave her as she slumped back into the seat, head lolling to one side. The Doctor gave a worried hum and crouched down to lift open her eyelids, shining a light from his pocket into her eyes. When she flinched, he dimmed the bulb, putting his hand on her arm. “Who are you?”

“Who... Who am I?” Her words were slurred, as though she was still wary of her new voice, her new body. She must have been aware by now that she’d regenerated. “I’m Rodageitmososa.”


	2. Wit's End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line about the hanging references the fic 'Master Plan', from two regenerations prior (for Roda).

The first thing the Doctor had done after the Time Lady has passed out again was get her cleaned up. The dirt, the paint, the grass stains, her own blood and more all stained her clothes and skin, making her into a harlequinade of colours, and it was hardly becoming of a Time Lady. The Doctor picked her up again – under the arms this time and in his own, now he was sure of her weight and temperament – and carried her through the TARDIS in search of the right bathroom, tripping over his scarf and one of her trailing bare feet a couple of times before getting there. When he did get through the corridors, he found trouble in propping her up in the middle of the room without a wall that she could lean on so that the sonic shower would work its science with her dignity intact. Given the bow and arrow he’d – reluctantly – salvaged from the Sheriff and the Executioner he doubted that this was a Time Lady he would want to get on the wrong side of, no matter what kind of favours he was doing her. And he got the idea she hadn’t intended on giving him her full name; if, of course, it was her real name at all. ‘Rodageitmososa’ seemed to have just slipped out, almost desperately.

He managed to get her to vertically balance between a towel rail and one wall of the sonic shower, tipped to one side. Standing back and shutting the door he flicked the switch that would set the machine to clean both her and her clothes without water; not precisely the forefront of Gallifreyan technology but something he rather liked never the less. The Doctor turned a half circle to give her some extra privacy and counted the clicks until the end of the shower before practically leaping back in to check on her. Now that she was practically white point star clear, the Doctor could tell she must have regenerated young first time around, and was reasonably pretty. Her hair was short and brown, and the sonic shower was now littered with the red feathers that had once been in her hair; ginger and just as short, when he’d first seen her. He’d collect up the feathers later, but they were so scruffy he could scarcely tell where they were from. His only guess would be Pharos. But that wasn’t all he’d been able to find out, of the few things he had. Now that the blue paint was gone he could tell that her eyes were blue, and her face covered in freckles that had at first glance blended in with the dirt on her face. She didn’t even come to his shoulders at full height, and looked surprisingly peaceful in her sleep.

The next port of call would be a change of clothes – he could already tell that her previous regeneration had been two and a half inches taller – but he’d have to wait until she woke up again. She’d gone into a regenerative coma when she passed out in his armchair again, and could probably do with sleep in a proper bed. Especially if she’d been sleeping in Sherwood Forest or a prison cell for however long she was there for. He brought her through to a guest bedroom, lying her out on a bed, and raided his enormous wardrobe for something that would fit her. The clothes he left on the end of the bed, shutting the door to the room in case she did turn out to be a threat and taking a first aid kit out from his trench coat pockets – transdimensionally sized, and still filled to the brink – he rested his sonic screwdriver behind his ear and sat down beside her. The springs of the bed scraped in hubris and Rodageitmososa slipped against his side. The Doctor paused, put an extra pillow behind her head, and started to give the Time Lady a proper look over. He considered tying her to the headboard for measure, but doubted she’d thank him when he woke.

That one record he’d found – now smoothed out on the table beside them – suggested that this wasn’t her first regeneration, so he didn’t have to worry in that sense. What he did have to check was the stability of that left heart of hers, and take a look at some strange scars he was sure he’d seen through rips in her shirt and waistcoat when she’d been buried alive. Two on one shoulder, one on her back, and he had seen them from where he’d watched the end of her hanging as well. Such scars should never have transgressed more than one regeneration! The Doctor practically existed to incorrigibly meddle and he’d never seen anything like it. But he cleaned them out – rolling her shirt off her shoulder and up at the waist – and applied parietal bandages, ignoring any physical response his body might have to bare female skin. After all he’d lived with a scantily clad Leela long enough. Making a mental note to find a way to ask her about the scars, he quickly waved a scanner over her torso to check her hormone levels and then put an oscillator against her chest to properly monitor her hearts. The right heart was still fine, but the left was racing still; not as much, which led him to conclude with relief that it was worry and not illness that caused the disjointed heartbeats. Leaving Rodageitmososa alone only long enough to make a cup of tea, the Doctor sank into the chair across the room and waited for her to wake up again.

He had a feeling she could be a very ‘interesting’ acquaintance to make indeed.

***

“I’m warning you! Don’t come anywhere near me!”

“Rodagei-“

“How do you know my name? Who sent you? Is Rassilon back? Did he send you? I’m not breaking the law this time and I didn’t before, the idiotic bastard just-“

“Rodageitmososa!”

“I am not going back to Gallifrey!”

The Doctor and Rodageitmososa stared each other down, the former from behind a chair and the latter brandishing a lampshade in the absence of her bow and arrows. The Doctor was using his chair in much the same way that one might fend off a lion at the circus, hair seemed to stand on end in alarm. He was also fairly relieved to have kept her weapons in another room – he wasn’t one for actual weapons, preferring to make gentler use of things he found – given her apparent paranoid neurosis. It simply wasn’t becoming of a Time Lady, this violent behaviour! They were a grand race – supposedly – and here he was trying not to fight another... Another... Leela! It was like having Leela on board again, except more dangerous and without the Janus thorns. Or at least he could only hope without the Janus thorns. The Doctor thumped his chair down on two legs, letting it drop with a loud clatter that, as planned, got Rodageitmososa’s attention. Then he leaned over as far as he could, adopting a stern disposition that seemed to remind her of something, or someone, as she took a step back. At least she lowered her ‘weapon’. The Doctor raised an eyebrow, then spoke to her calmly.

“Now that we’re behaving like Time Lords do you think we could have a civilised conversation?” The Time Lady bit her lip, and swallowed, carefully putting the lamp back down on the table and folding her arms across her chest stubbornly. The Doctor took that as his permission to continue. “Right. Answering your questions in reverse; I’m not going to take you back to Gallifrey if you don’t want to, I wasn’t heading there myself. I have no idea what your,” He paused, unsure what word to use after her outburst, “Crime was, because it isn’t in the records. Rassilon didn’t send me and supposedly he’s dead.” Here he grinned wildly. “I sent myself. Renegade.” Rodageitmososa seemed genuinely surprised, if only half inclined to believe him. “And I know your name because you told me it before you passed out earlier.” The Doctor hummed to indicate he was finished talking, and the Time Lady tipped her head, tapping her foot in an uncomfortable pattern.

“What did you say your name was?”

“I’m the Doctor.”

“No, your name, not rank.” The Time Lady seemed almost unaware that she had changed the speech to ragged High Gallifreyan, as opposed to the English he’d started with due to where he’d found her. Darkly, the Doctor shook his head.

“Not important.”

“Damn it Doctor you think I wanted to tell you my name either?” She sighed, nodding in understanding, and rubbing the back of her neck. “Nobody’s called me that since I was exiled.”

“I see, I see.” Or not, but it seemed an idea to placate her now she had calmed down. Rodageitmososa was still standing as though she was on a battle field, ready to attack him at any moment. The Doctor nodded, tentatively coming forward from behind the chair but keeping his hand on the sonic screwdriver in his pockets. Rodageitmososa’s eyes strayed knowingly to his submerged hand and she put one of her own down beside the lamp. Wisely, the Doctor slowed his approach. “No, I don’t use my name either.” He scratched his neck. “What do you want to be called?”

That seemed to surprise her. “W-Well Roda, but you don’t know me!” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “People call me the Redjay.”

“Ah, so it is you!”

“What?” Roda blinked in confusion, stroking her throat awkwardly.

“Well, you see, you had quite a turn out at that execution of yours.” He winced. “And I don’t think Robin Hood himself gives a mercy killing to just any Time Lady passing through.” He smiled reassuringly. “I did some research on Earth.”

“So why are you helping me?” Roda seemed to have gone from angry to vaguely angsty. The set of her jaw and the glare in her eyes suggested that she was trying to hide it, for whatever reasons. Perhaps the hanging had hit home harder than simple regenerative shock. “I mean I just got – got-“

“Hanged?”

“Yeah.” She flinched. “Pazithi Gallifreya...” The Doctor started at her heathen muttering. Gallifrey’s moon? What next? “You don’t even know what I got exiled for on Gallifrey!”

“But I do know you needed my help.”

“I-“

“And that’s what I do.” He was close enough to grip her shoulders and did so, one hand just touching the back of her neck. Roda reddened and snarled, but backed down again when he didn’t. She knew when she was beaten, or at least needed to take a break in her defence. It was clear that – likely due to her exile – the Redjay was not prone to trusting. But she seemed cowed for now. “Like I said, I’m the Doctor.” He paused, then awkwardly patted the top of her head, almost as though stroking a cat. The Redjay was primitive, but in an entirely different way to Leela. “Now, cup of tea, hot food, Doctor’s orders Redjay.” The Time Lady gingerly pushed some of her hair behind her ear and nodded. “Right, this way.”

After a hesitant second, the Redjay put her hand on the Doctor’s arm and stepped close against him, seeking subconscious comfort. She opened her mouth to say something, then rested her forehead on the Doctor’s chest, breaking into silent sobs. Startled, the Doctor patted her on the back, and Roda wrapped her arms around him like a confused child. After a second, the Doctor indulged the supposed savage traitor and put his arms around her tightly. “Thank you.”

“Thank you?”

“Thank you.” Roda sniffed, and held on to his back, regenerative coma calling her name again. “For trusting me...”


	3. Harbouring a Criminal

“Dangerous? I laugh at danger and drop ice cubes down the vest of fear!”

The Doctor knew by now that Roda had to be taken care of. She could hold onto herself in a fight, control herself in a strange environment, but when it came to look after her own health or safety? It was as though that part of the Redjay’s common sense had been silenced or exorcised. She’d not trusted him with all the details of her history yet – he could tell it haunted her more than she cared to admit – but he knew at least that she’d been executed in Sherwood Forest; after all, he was the one who’d dug her out of an unmarked grave. He hadn’t wanted to push her because he’d found that after a few months living with her, he did want to know her, and not just because she reminded him of Leela. He liked having her around, and he seemed to be having a positive influence on the terrified, paranoid woman that he had first met. He knew she was a renegade, but he didn’t know her crime. It almost stung; he hadn’t travelled with people who were wary of him for years.

And before going out tonight, Roda had muttered something about an anniversary she’d care to forget, and that was all he’d gotten out of her. There was a darkness in her eyes that he had never noticed before, and he’d stepped out of her way, jokingly commenting that she’d better be back before midnight or he’d leave her behind and she’d turn into a pumpkin. Unable to help himself, he’d sat up until he decided he really had to go and find her. She’d been gone too long. A scan of the planet, looking for her distinct telepathic signal, led him from one bar to another until they blurred into one, and he wondered how she was still standing. A few questions asked at each bar, and by the time he found Roda staggering out a door she’d drunk enough to kill a small herd of wildebeest. Were it not for her body treating all the ethanol as poison and working to flush it from her system, she would have been dead. Furious, he’d dragged her away from the bar and back towards the TARDIS until it had become clear that she couldn’t walk herself. Then he’d started to carry her.

“Glad to hear it, Roda.” She’d been coming out with such nonsense as her ice cube line for the last ten minutes. The Doctor was still angry, but he had it in him to be relieved, too. At least now, she could form sentences again, and the alcohol didn’t seem to be making her ill, only drugged. But it’d probably hit her in the morning. His usual bohemian cheer gone he used his free hand to massage his temples, talking through clenched teeth. Thoughtfully, the Doctor moved her so that she was no longer slung over his shoulder like a rucksack, carrying her in his arms. It would have been romantic were she somebody else, and a lot more sober. He gave her his stern look, unclenching his jaw and trying to sound parental instead of condemnatory. “You could have got yourself killed.”

The Doctor quickly learned two things about the Redjay. One, she could hold her drink, but only for so long, and that 'so long' appeared to be the tenth or eleventh of the oldest, strongest alcohol she'd managed to get her hands on in thirty third century Thoros Beta. Two, she was even less rational when she was drunk than she was sober. Her arms were now wrapped around his neck as though around a lover's and his own scarf was wrapped around her fingers like cat's cradle. Her hair - bright pink, of all things, and he was going to have to ask how it had changed colour overnight! - was tickling the base of his nose but he didn't mind. He had to get her home before she got them both arrested.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Roda giggled. Totally out of her mind, then. If nothing else, the Redjay needed a reality check, and fast. He was aware that she’d dyed her hair after her sixth drink. Cut it shorter, too, but he could still recognize her. The smudged, almost washed off blue paint was a dead giveaway. He flinched at the word choice, then sighed, grabbing hold of the finger she was pointing at him and gently lowering her arms to her stomach. Briefly, the Doctor wondered whose shirt she was wearing – it was far too big to be her own – and hoped that she hadn’t done anything reckless. “So – so you don’t need to worry.”

“If you’re going to drink yourself in a coma then I very well do need to worry!” He tried to pull his scarf out of her hands, to no effect. Or rather, to the wrong effect. Roda giggled again, misunderstanding his gestures and the severity of his tone.

“Love the scarf – tie me up again when we get home?”

The Doctor winced. “Proper sentences, Roda, we’re Time Lords not Neanderthals.” Sometimes it was like living with Leela again. Except without the Janus thorns – mercifully. “And no, that was to stop you doing something stupid.” That time, he’d only just met her. He’d used his scarf to tie her to the console because it was the only thing he had to hand, and it was the only way to stop her injuring both of them when she’d woken up from a nightmare with no idea where she was. “Too late for that now.”

“I’m something stupid, do me.”

“Again, no. Some other time if you behave!”

The Doctor groaned, and patted her head slowly as Roda wrapped the longer end of his scarf around her neck. He really shouldn’t have been encouraging her. The Redjay only laughed, and her hair fell back into her eyes, her hand balling up in his shirt as she almost fell out of his arms, causing him to move her to the other side to get a better hold on her. At least they were close to the TARDIS. All he had to do was get her home and into bed and they could talk this over in the morning. Roda could be the strangest companion he had ever travelled with, sometimes. Helpful though it was to have a Time Lady around, especially one like her – good heart, good instincts, good aim – she could also be one of the most difficult. It was tricky to grow close when neither of them would talk to the other. He needed her to trust him, because she needed to trust someone. As Roda would say, Pazithi Gallifreya knew she had to trust someone. As Roda closed her eyes the Doctor fell silent, and unlocked the TARDIS door, trying not to disturb her but managing to accidentally stand on his scarf, a bag of jelly babies and a yoyo. He pulled a face, but she seemed to have calmed down at last; perhaps the TARDIS was reaching out to her shattered telepathic axons, soothing her. The Doctor let himself smile fondly and found his way to his library – one of Roda’s favourite places in the TARDIS – easing her gently onto the sofa.

That was when he saw it. Black circles, flickering in and out of focus underneath the rolled up sleeve of her borrowed shirt. Roda usually wore shirts with sleeves passing her elbows, and so he’d never noticed the tattoo before. Curious as to why he couldn’t see it clearly, he gently rolled the sleeve up further, making a shushing noise as he did so, only for his jaw to drop. The High Gallifreyan was more than skin deep; it was a binding, and an explanation for her damaged telepathy, lack of Matrix link and renegade status. The words ‘traitor’ and ‘exiled’ were hard to miss, this close, and when somebody was really looking for them. Only Time Lords and those with good telepathic abilities would be able to see them. Roda would be aware of its presence – likely painfully so, at first – but be unable to actually see it with what the Time Lords did to the exiled. He closed his eyes, shocked, muttering a prayer of his own that it hadn’t been painful. And that she wasn’t the traitor the marks called her.


	4. Old Tricks, New Dog (Bonus)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Robot dog to be precise. Not quite the definitive article and not even Mark I but then the old TARDIS isn't top of the range either."

"You got a dog?"

It wasn’t the most eloquent of greetings. The Doctor would probably have preferred a bit of advanced warning, or even a knock and a hello – not that he gave as much himself – but that Roda hadn’t just crept up and poked him in the side was, she felt, an improvement. The Time Lord did an admirable job of not starting with surprise, the muscles in his back only just tensing as he threw his scarf over one shoulder with a snort and carried on with what he was doing. Roda took that as her invitation to cross over the threshold of the TARDIS and see what he was up to. If he did insist on leaving the front door wide open on the streets of Paris when disguised as a perfectly British police box…

"Robot dog to be precise.” It was at that. Roda hadn’t noticed at first, had just seen the vague silhouette of something with a wagging tail and deduced that the Doctor was not the sort to get a cat, let alone to wind one up. Then again she hadn’t put him down as the kind to get a dog, either. “Not quite the definitive article,” Roda grinned, “And not even Mark I but then the old TARDIS isn't top of the range either."

Roda glanced at her wrist absently. Of course she wasn’t wearing a watch and of course time wasn’t linear, but she wondered how long it had been since their last meeting. The Doctor did seem to have an inordinate amount of luck surviving in his current regeneration. In the end she settled on ‘at least I’ve not gone back in time’ and folded her arms across her chest, lifting her chin playfully.

"Mine's older."

The Doctor scowled, tucking his normal screwdriver into his chest pocket and looking over his shoulder at her as the small metal dog did a quick, tentative-looking circuit of the floor in front of him.

"It's not a contest Roda."

Roda was about to open her mouth when a small, tinny voice, male-sounding, from somewhere around her ankles piped up and nearly ran over her foot.

"Is this a new Mistress Master?"

"Oh."

Roda clapped her hand over her mouth with a maternal squeak, crouching down to pat the robotic dog on the head. At the word ‘Master’ she barely flinched anymore; she hadn’t seen the bastard in years. But the dog… He talked? That was even better. He’d been fussing around since the Doctor had, presumably, finished fixing him, and Roda half expected him to roll over and ask for his stomach to be tickled. She took the way the antennae on his head twitched back and forward and his tail wagged from side to side as approval enough, and sat down cross-legged in front of him with obvious intrigue and a pleasant grin on her face. Oh, she’d dropped by to ask a favour of the Doctor but this was far more exciting for the time being.

"He's lovely...!"

"Affirmative miss."

Roda laughed and patted the dog’s head once more.

"And he’s far more polite than you are, Doctor."

“My name is K-9 miss.”

“Who’s a good boy, K-9?”

The Doctor bristled as he adjusted the rim of his hat and buried his neck into his scarf almost as though his pride had been wounded. Roda, who knew that the Time Lord, though fond of her, thought her behaviour far from befitting of a Time Lady, refrained from rolling her eyes with great difficulty.

"Says the Time Lady who dyed her hair pink to spite me," Roda grinned. It was still pink. A little longer, though, and with roots showing of her more natural ginger. It was starting to split at the ends but Roda had never cared much for stereotypical appearance, preferring to make a statement roughly along the lines of ‘if you insist on exiling me for my behaviour then why should I play along to your rules?’. The dye though had been to prove a point, and related to the anniversary of said exile, and it had been worth it really, just for the look of almost parental horror on the younger Time Lord’s face. "And runs around covered in woad and shooting arrows at innocent people."

Roda folded her arms and craned her neck back to narrow her eyes. Her smile dimmed, for just a second.

"Hardly innocent."

"Actually," The Doctor didn't even seem to have heard her protest. Roda didn’t have the heart to disapprove of his disapproval and grinned again, ticking K-9 behind the ears for all the good that it would presumably do. At least he seemed to behave like a real dog. Simple and cheerful and if he belonged to the Doctor, presumably helpful. Roda wondered if he knew any tricks; she and the Doctor weren’t too old not to learn any new ones themselves, yet. With a jolt Roda remembered that the Doctor was talking to her and despite his blunt personality, did her best to look interested. "Have I introduced you to Leela yet?"

She shook her head, returning her attention to the lightly humming dog and absently pushing shut the door on his side that the Doctor had left swinging open.

"Leela?"

"Mistress!"

Well at least K-9 knew who the Doctor was talking about.

"Tall, savage, carries around a lot of poison." The Doctor rubbed his thigh as though he spoke from personal experience, and then thrust his hands deep into his seemingly endless coat pockets. Roda bit her knuckles to stop from chuckling. She’d been poisoned more than once herself and wagered the Doctor was no different. She really shouldn’t have thought to laugh. It was probably the Doctor’s hair that did it. And the grin. “Janus thorns, just as crude as twelfth century steel.” Roda decided not to argue that particular point. The Doctor would just have to get used to her modus operandi. He didn’t seem to want to either and waved his free hand dismissively. "...Trust me you wouldn't forget her.” The hand left the pocket, and Roda jumped to her feet. She knew what that meant. The matter was over and the Doctor was ready to see her now. “Jelly baby?"

K-9 flashed, whirred, and rolled a few circles around the floor like any other loyal, excitable terrier. “Affirmative!”


	5. Secret Keeper

Roda couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a hangover. She could barely remember the last time she’d drank, either; it had probably been in Sherwood Forest, some time before her execution. A few months, then. The Doctor wasn’t much of a drinker and so Roda had respected his tastes and stuck to cups of coffee in mugs the size of her head instead. She wasn’t an alcoholic, but she was an adrenaline junkie. Which was what made the night before last even stranger. Not only had Roda been drinking, period, but she’d drunk so much and so many different things that most of the night was a blank. As she curled up on the sofa in the library, cradling her head in one hand and holding the Doctor’s coat around her shoulders for warmth with the other, she had – without a shadow of doubt – absolutely no idea how she had gotten home. Or for that matter, whose shirt she was wearing. It was pretty disconcerting and oh Skaro... Her head hurt so bad that she was pretty sure what she’d drunk would have floored a rhinoceros. That would explain why she could see the Doctor out of the corner of her eye, holding a pair of mugs and looking like he was somewhere between worried and furious.

“Doctor...”

“And she still can’t speak in sentences.” The Doctor would have thrown his hands into the air if he wasn’t holding mugs of scalding liquid. As it was, he tipped his head exaggeratedly, giving Roda a stern – if just a little amused – look. But he seemed more worried than anything else, and Roda kept her mouth shut, partly because she thought it might hurt her head to talk and partly because she didn’t know what to say. “Honestly, Roda, it’s your own fault if you’re hungover.” He leaned over the bag of the sofa, scarf trailing over Roda’s legs, and handed her the larger of the two mugs. The wafting smell of coffee assaulted her senses, both nauseating and inviting. Before she could do anything else, Roda murmured her thanks through a grimace of pain, and took a careful sip of the strong, milky coffee. Just how she liked it, good old Doctor. But even focusing that much made her dizzy. “Care to tell me where you went last night?”

“I, um...”

“If you remember.”

Roda tipped her head back to glower reproachfully at the Doctor, taking another long drink of her coffee. She ran her free hand across her face and then cradled the mug in both, letting the coat fall loosely over her shoulders. Carefully swinging her legs so that they hung over the edge of the sofa she shuffled up the sofa, silently inviting the Doctor to sit down beside her. He paused, drinking his tea with more decorum, then took the invitation and rested one arm long across the back of the sofa. He looked at the roof as though conducting a conversation with it – Roda reckoned he probably was, telepathically, talking to the TARDIS – and the blinding lights of the library dimmed to a gentle orange. She whimpered, but thanked the TARDIS with a nod. It must have drawn the memory of how her own TARDIS soothed her from her mind, and adjusted accordingly. The warm sensation and colours, not unlike Gallifrey’s two suns, made Roda choke another whimper into her cup. The TARDIS meant well, but she was beginning to remember why she’d gone out drinking.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“M’sorry.” Mumbling her apologies, almost scared to do so, reminded Roda further. There were so many things going through her head, not least of all the worry that she was too far gone to be a decent companion for anyone, let alone another Time Lord. She was a fool to think she could live with one of her own kind for the first time in centuries and not come up against any trouble. She could go if the Doctor wanted her to. She didn’t want to, but it wouldn’t be any trouble. After all, who would want to – “I’d want to.” The Doctor gave her a confused look, and Roda realised that she’d been thinking aloud.

“Why would you think that?”

“’Cause – ‘cause I... Last night...”

“I’m just worried you could have killed yourself. Honestly, Roda, it took directions from nineteen bars to find you.” He raised an eyebrow, putting one arm around her gently and rubbing her upper arm as though he was trying to restore feeling to it. Roda stayed nervously still, eyes on his jaw instead of his eyes. “And I believe you only paid three of them. That’s not what psychic paper is for.”

“I know, I know... I’m sorry.” Where had she gone? Thoros Beta, or Alpha, but what century? Or had it been Thoros Gamma? She honestly couldn’t remember. She hoped the Doctor knew, because if she’d skimped on paying for, what, however many drinks in sixteen bars, then she’d been in trouble if she ever returned. Roda winced; the Redjay’s reputation wouldn’t benefit in the slightest from picking up ‘notorious alcoholic’ to the list of crimes. She growled into her mug, clutching the handle so tight it threatened to snap in two, and the Doctor shot her another worried glance.

“Ro-Ro...”

“Sorry...!” She didn’t know what else to say. What could she say? Roda would swear that she trusted the Doctor almost as replacement family, but then anyone she’d considered replacement family – they’d all let her down, or she’d let them down. Sometimes both. Why should the Doctor be any different just because he’d been there to save her life and give her a bed to sleep in? She wanted to tell him everything, but... “I’m sorry!”

“Ssh, ssh...” Roda didn’t even realise she was sobbing until the Doctor was prising the coffee from her hands, putting it on the table in front of them. He pulled her a little bit closer – almost as though he found the idea of embracing a woman to be awkward in an old-fashioned sort of way, and under other circumstances she would have laughed – and pushed her hair out of her eyes where sweat and tears were sticking it to her cheeks. Roda rubbed her hands over her face, trying futilely to dry her skin, then let her hands drop, the sobs growing. Her hands were shaking, and there was already drying coffee spotting her trousers and one sleeve of the Doctor’s coat. “It’s alrigh-“

“Doctor, I’m... I’m an...” She couldn’t get the words out. Rassilon, she wanted to! Roda was on the brink of bawling, crying harder than she had let herself in centuries. She’d hardened, over the years; regeneration, punishment and betrayal had turned her into a neurotic, renegade mess. Roda was aware that she was steadily becoming the criminal people had accused her of being and she found it hard to care anymore. The Redjay was who she was, even if she felt fit to evolve far beyond Rodageitmososa’s control.

“An exile.” The Doctor spoke softly, but very matter of fact. He knew. He knew. Roda lost control, then, sobbing and choking, clasping the closest thing to her hands tight in chalk white fists and swearing not to let go. It was that simple word that she found so hard to say and that made it so hard for her to trust. Her hand snaked to where she thought the tattoo was, mouth forming a demand for explanations that she couldn’t find the energy to ask for. The Doctor nodded slowly, prying her fingers from her arm but letting her cling to his front, to his scarf. “I saw the mark, last night.” He gave a deep sigh. “If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t –“

Roda told him everything. She told him with a smile how she’d imagined her mother’s voice, her hair, being tucked in when she’d had a nightmare and told a bedtime story. Choking, Roda told him how she’d come home one day to find the house overrun by the Castellan and his guards with the information that her father was dead and she was the last of her House. How she had wound up attacking Castrivax and being sent to Rassilon for reprimand because there was no one else to send her to. She smiled for a second, as she recalled better years, living with Rassilon – and the Doctor looked surprised – and then groaned when she recalled how things had gone downhill, how her grades had dropped, how Robin Hood had become more important. There weren’t words to describe that revelation. 

Roda cowered as she recalled being shot, her depression, living with Galegochaelax, then running away to Sherwood Forest. Her mood took a turn for the better as did the Doctor’s calm when she recounted learning to fight with the Merry Men, getting her first bow and falling in love with Will Scarlet. The Doctor laughed with her as she spoke of falling in the river and of rescuing dolls from trees, then pulled her close and into his arms as she spoke of Quetzilds, the Shadow Proclamation, and begging Rassilon for help. Talking about her exile went in a blur and Roda didn’t know enough herself to tell the Doctor what had happened. She choked, broke down, had to stop for a full ten minutes of sobbing before she could continue. It still hurt.

Everything else went in a blur. Being hailed as a witch, thrown in a well, and forcing herself to drown to avoid being burned. Running, just running, and hardening. Breaking the law, meeting the Master, stabbing Guy of Gisbourne, saving Bandraginus Five and turning the Redjay into a hero again. Getting back on the straight and narrow only to be captured and hung for her crimes against 11th century England, a smirking Prince John lined up beside a triumphant Guy of Gisbourne as Robin, heartbroken, fired the arrow to give her a mercy killing. The last thing she saw Will Scarlet, held back, roaring insults at anybody who could hear them but refused to listen. And then waking up in the Doctor’s TARDIS, scared and buried alive and learning to trust again. It took hours to tell the Doctor her whole story, every little detail but he listened. He made the right sounds at the right times and held her tight, looking after her like her subconscious yelled for somebody to do.

And when she had said all that she could said, the Doctor held her until she finally fell asleep, more comfortable than she could ever remember being. The Doctor stayed with her until morning came again, and travelling with the Redjay finally, properly, begun.


	6. Epilogue

“Ro-Roda?!”

“Hi Doctor!” Rodageitmososa clung to the middle of the lanky blond Time Lord as though he had never changed, never regenerated since she last saw him. Laughing nervously the Doctor half lifted the delighted Time Lady into the TARDIS before the cricket fans outside wondered what on Earth a man in a police box had just been leapt at for, gently prising her from his middle to look her over. Roda hadn’t regenerated, and her hair was still pink; even at Trent Bridge Ground in the middle of the sixties she stuck out like a sore thumb, goggles on her head, dust all over her body, steam punk clothes screaming the fact that she had just dropped in from another world to visit her beloved Nottingham and not bothered to change. With Roswell only just more than ten years ago, at least the cricket players would have something to talk about. He sighed melodramatically and then grinned, opening his arms for a proper embrace as Roda threw herself at the Doctor with a laugh. He spluttered. Roda laughed.

“Did you miss me, Roda?”


End file.
